


Mischief

by Han_shot_first



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dinner and Diatribes - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Hozier, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Han_shot_first/pseuds/Han_shot_first
Summary: Isabela cackled, and Maraas, the Tal-Vashoth mercenary, roared. And behind the table, Hawke grabbed onto Fenris and kissed the ever-living hell out of her elf, at the centre of the storm, as always.That’s the kind of loveI’ve been dreaming ofThat’s the kind of loveI’ve been dreaming of
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	Mischief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Viscariafields](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/gifts).



“Hawke.”

“It’s not my fault!”  
  
Fenris chuckled quietly, helpless to her undertow, pulled under despite his better judgement.

When had real laughter come back to him? In his heart, he wondered.

They crouched under a filthy table set on its side at the Hanged Man, cards scattered around them, taking cover for a moment from the arrows, knives, flying tankards, at least one broken stool.

The screams of enraged Carta thugs and Coterie mercs bellowed at Isabela, who cackled and swore at their mothers while disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

She popped out in front of them saying, “Having fun?”

Her eyes twinkled merrily, and she unceremoniously dug her clever fingers into Hawke’s side, producing outraged laughter. Hawke was horribly ticklish, something they all occasionally exploited. Isabela found her desire – a tar bomb – and she grinned in triumph, winked, then flipped over the table, back into the fray again.

It had only taken a moment, but Hawke was still laughing as she looked into the elf’s eyes, trying to catch her breath.

The mischief in her eyes pulled him in further.

“The floor in here… is already so gross and sticky… I hope Corff doesn’t mind,” she wheezed, as she brought her laughter under control.

There was a sound of shattering glass and howls of indignation.

“Sodding—I can’t move! For the love of — Rivaini, these were new boots last year!”

Varric’s voice, and Hawke laughed again, her smile reaching across her face.

“Oh no! You’ll just have to let Bianca and me handle it. I can hear her screaming my name already!” Isabela’s voice was triumphant – suspiciously so.

Fenris looked at Hawke as Varric let loose a string of curses directed at the pirate.

“Did you plan this?”

Hawke looked decidedly innocent.

“Hawke…”

Her eyebrows raised with sweetness and guile.

He plucked a playing card from the edge of her jacquerie, stuffed badly as it was near her thigh. He raised it with elegantly tattooed fingers to her face.

“Rivaini!” shouted Varric. “Catch! And I swear, if you so much as scratch her…”

“You worry too much!” laughed Isabela. The beloved twang and thwack of Bianca sounded throughout the room, and Hawke laughed again, clutching her belly this time; her face was filled with glee.

“Tell me,” he murmured, as he flicked the card away to cup her face, a wry smile pushing its way through him with a shake of his head.

“Tell you what?” She was a brazen rogue. Unrepentant. Irresistible. His.

“Tell me,” he said with heat, nuzzling into her neck, listening to the sounds of breaking tankards and outraged patrons, caught in the fray. Her breath caught, and he smiled, rubbing his nose into the sweat along her neck. They heard Varric roar, “Hawke! Broody! Anytime you feel like jumping in?!”

Hawke shivered, wriggling and whispering, “We should probably—”

“So full of mischief. Tell me what you’re going to do to me, and when?”

She froze, and she pushed back to look through her lashes at him in surprise.

He touched his forehead to hers and gently chucked her chin.

“That’s my dragon.” 

He took her mouth, a rare display of wantonness and disregard for whoever would see.

“For fuck’s sake!” shouted Corff. “Take it outside!”

The elf wondered when his life had changed so much. When had thoughts of an impending surprise attack – her language of love - begun to fill him with the anticipation of bliss, not born of revenge, but of wonder and adoration?

In the shyest corners of his heart, where his hope and love miraculously grew in a field of scorched and salted earth, he found he wanted it all. He wanted complaints, grievances, and invoices for damages from tavern keepers. He wanted outrageous tales spun by Varric. He craved her mischief, her friends, her fate, and her kind of love.

Isabela cackled, and Maraas, the Tal-Vashoth mercenary, roared. And behind the table, Hawke grabbed onto Fenris and kissed the ever-living hell out of her elf, at the centre of the storm, as always.

**Author's Note:**

> _I knew well from our first hookup  
>  The look of mischief in your eye  
> Your friends are a fate that befell me  
> Hell is the talking type  
> I'd suffer hell if you'd tell me  
> What you'd do to me tonight_
> 
> _Tell me  
>  Tell me  
> Tell me_
> 
> _That's the kinda love  
>  I've been dreaming of  
> That's the kinda love  
> I've been dreaming of_  
> \- from **Dinner and Diatribes** , Hozier (from the 2019 album 'Wasteland, Baby!', copyright Andrew Hozier Byrne)


End file.
